


Syllabus

by SkadiofWinter



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Kieren and Amy friendship, Leukemia, M/M, Packing in some Amy/Philip being cute idiots before the sad event, Self-Harm, Teacher-Student Relationship, referenced attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5594431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkadiofWinter/pseuds/SkadiofWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When asked in years to come about the best part of your school days there are two common answers. Your friends, and that one teacher that taught you something important. Something off the syllabus of Of Mice and Men and CosSinTan, but something about life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spring Term

**Author's Note:**

> Now, this was supposed to be a kinky student/teacher romance fic making full use of their functioning human bodies. That's not ended up happening, but if secret blowjobs under the desk and canoodling in the janitor's closet is something people would want I might do some separate one shots for that.
> 
> I've read/researched a little on leukemia and the process of aftercare for young people who have attempted suicide but if there is anything glaringly out of place or something's missing in the trigger tags please let me know.  
> It's not tagged as underage, although for US folks it would be as well as anyone else with higher age laws than the UK. (Kieren is sixteen in this.)

"Tank, tank, tank..."  
Kieren counted quickly and started to panic, looking further down the line for a space he might quickly move to.  
"Tank," the substitute teacher said, throwing a black tank top to him. He didn't catch it, arms hanging limply by his sides.  
"Is there a problem?"  
His gaze was stuck to the garment lying on the floor until it was gathered up by large hands.  
Before he could get his voice to work itself into an answer someone took it upon themselves to do it for him.  
"Emo ponce sliced all his arms up."  
A hush washed over the more well mannered students as he pulled consciously at the ends of his sleeves. but those in the social group of the speaker laughed along. They didn't know for a fact he was gay, a small mercy that, but they used the insults all the same. Not that that was the worst thing they said.  
The teacher moved on without comment and handed the top to someone else, telling them all to get a move on into their places.  
Kieren wasn't disastrous at football. At least he wasn't the worst. The ball didn't come his way too often and after some mild jogging to pretend he was doing something he stopped completely near the losing team's goal.

The game didn't interest him and he was soon watching the teacher. Late twenties, he guessed. The shorts and sports jacket he was wearing didn't really suit him. The trainers were too clean and showed off bright, striped socks. His calves weren't too bad. There was a strength there, but not from playing sports.  
"Kier!"  
Philip Wilson, goalie for the lesson and head of the student council, was waving a gloved hand in front of his face, just as he was picturing those legs spread wide on a bed. "You alright, mate?"  
He nodded. Had he been staring?  
Philip at least was oblivious.  
"How's Amy?"  
"Good, thanks. She's going to be in all week so come say hi."  
Philip shrugged, backing away to one of the posts again.  
He offered up a sad smile before his own gaze returned to the teacher. He couldn't remember his name. He was checking his watch, and just at that moment looked back at him. Gestured that he could leave while the rest of the class was still absorbed by free kicks.  
It gave him time to change in the changing room instead of hidden away in a filthy bathroom stall. In the cold weather the scars stood out more against his pale skin, whereas in the brief British Summer's his whole body would turn as red as a strawberry and Amy could sometimes convince him into wearing three quarter sleeved tops she insisted were fashionable.  
"But in what decade?" he'd always ask.

His best friend was waiting for him in the hall on their way to the next lesson, somehow already knowledgeable of the morning's events and squeezing his hand. Apart from art and the gender segregated P.E lessons he shared all his classes with her, so as long as she was well enough to come in he always had a nice time.  
The classroom was busy with excited students, counting every minute the teacher hadn't turned up. Kieren was reading the library's copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Amy musing beside him on what her patronus would be.

"Sorry, sorry," Irish tones rang out in the sixth minute, the hush of other voices dying down. "Got lost. Alright, so some of you will recognise me from P.E just now, where we all saw a marvelous pass from Thomas there with Kendal scoring straight into the top corner."  
The boy in question grinned, getting cheered and thumped on the back by his mates next to him. It was only then that he glanced up to see what was going on, dropping his gaze instantly. Since...well, it had been a good while since he had felt that kind of interest for anyone. It wasn't really a surprise that it was once again someone unattainable.  
This Mr. Monroe was good with people, and he never heard a leprechaun joke said about him after that. A first, surely, for substitutes were usually fair game.  
He'd changed into a casual black suit, crisp shirt unbuttoned at the top and showing a damp clavicle where he must have freshened up in-between. This fit him far better. Teaching English fit him better too.

It was less than five minutes before Amy put her hand up, asking for help. She didn't need help, and he poked her discreetly in the ribs.  
Mr. Monroe had knelt down on the left beside Amy so it was impossible to look without a chance of being caught, though he hadn't missed the fact he had the most enticing lips he had ever seen on a man.  
He focused on the page, pen tracing over the last few words he'd written though a little of Amy's ramble filtered through. She was good with people too, and everyone that wasn't frightened off by her sometimes sickly look and 'the grim reaper waving his scythe around behind me', adored her in an instant.  
"He's nice," she commented once he'd moved on. "Very nice."  
Kieren hummed a noncommittal response.

As the bell rang he was asked to stay behind, and he begged Amy silently not to leave him as she waited for the throng of pupils eager to get to lunch to disperse so she wouldn't get knocked or pushed.  
"Go charm him, tiger," she grinned, whispering into his ear as she hugged him.

"Don't worry, I don't want to keep you too long," he smiled, leaning against the desk once they were alone.  
It had been a long day, and all he wanted now was to finish his last two lessons and get home and to bed.  
Whilst Kieren just waited silently, glancing every so often towards the door, the teacher carried on.  
"I wanted to apologise for earlier. I left a note by your name so any subs will know for next time, and I'll have words with the head about lack of attention."  
Kieren shrugged, mumbling something about it being no big deal.  
He'd hoped to get out of that lesson completely, but even his therapist had agreed the exercise would be good for him.  
"Well, off you go then," Mr. Monroe sighed, turning round and starting to stack up some papers.  
Moving towards the door he paused with his hand on the handle.  
"Thank you, Sir."  
He was gone in a flash then, missing the soft smile that brightened up the teacher's expression

When he lay in bed that night he wanked over the gorgeous Irishman, getting him out his system. You rarely saw the same substitute twice, so after that he didn't give it too much thought.

The next day Amy teased him at lunch about 'the one that got away', although maybe he could try his luck with today's sub. A serious, white haired professor from the local university who read poetry with as much passion as if it was the yellow pages.

No one made him laugh as giddily as Amy. She was his BHFF.


	2. Best Hospital Friend Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time. Things will follow on from Chapter 1 after this.

They were finally letting him wander around unaccompanied. He avoided the 'common room' like the plague, filled as it was with old boxed games all missing pieces and brightly coloured chairs set out like a scene from a low budget kid's show. Instead he'd loiter around the vending machine in the hall, finish off a bottle of Lucozade then sneak outside to sit on one of the benches near the car park and draw. Occasionally scribble furiously over the page then regret the waste of good paper.

That was where Amy approached him, an overly large denim jacket over the none too fetching aqua hospital gown and fuzzy pink slippers on her feet.  
"I know you," she said, and he gazed back at her blankly.  
She'd seen him when he was first brought in two months ago. After the stitches and the clean up, when the only thing left wrong with him was hidden behind dull eyes.

When Amy had told him why she was here he'd fell quiet and carefully avoided her for the next few days until she'd cornered him by the canteen, warm chocolate croissants in hand.  
'Of course I don't hate you, dumb-dumb. Though I'm probably your guardian angel. Or I will be.'  
It still took a while for the burn of shame to leave him, knowing she didn't have a choice about how soon her life would leave her when here he was feeling sorry for himself over a boy.

It turned out she already knew his parents, was on first name terms with them both. Jem, when she turned up at all, was a work in progress.  
He had vague images of his younger sister in the ambulance. Desperate cries that still rang in his ears sometimes. But since he'd been fully conscious he hadn't heard a word from her, or seen her at all but for a skulking figure pacing past the narrow glass panel in the ward door every fifteen seconds on visiting days.

His therapist had never ending comments to make on the subject. He'd asked the older man if he had a sister and didn't get a response, though he otherwise did most of the talking. Kieren tuned him out most of the time but couldn't help shifting in his seat when the mild drone of the Doctor's voice got too much and he felt a desire to scratch at his arms. There would be the light scratch of a fountain pen instead as more notes were written.

They didn't like it either went he spent as much of the day as possible shut in his small single bedroom, plain duck egg blue but for the pinboard on one wall. His was layered in drawings, and more frequently magazine clippings. Plates of food and luxurious desserts, stupid quizzes and clothes Amy thought he would look good in, the majority of which he doubted he would wear in a million years.

Meals had to be eaten in the canteen and there were the obligatory group meetings. You'd think that enough social interaction for one day. Not that he was antisocial. He was just fed up of mundane conversation.

Which was why he got on so well with Amy, who was in the most endearing way, completely crazy. And he was probably a good judge of crazy. One of the girls in the centre liked showing off the neat row of cuts and scars on her inner thigh. The nurses spoke in gravelly hushed tones about indecent exposure, not allowed to shout incase they set someone off, much to a few of their's disdain. 

It had taken him a while to stop being distrustful of the nurses, the only purpose to their friendliness a way of getting more information. He'd called them spies. Mostly he was just tired of the place, not yet resigned to the fact he would be here at least four months more. The hospital itself hadn't been so bad as he'd just been able to sleep the fortnight he was kept in but the adjoined specialist centre was a different story. It seemed an odd place to have it but he supposed the parents liked that they were close to good medical help should anyone relapse.

Proximity aside it was called a haven, and there were tall bushes to block out the ambulances as well as a graffittied mural. It was supposed to be an entirely separate entity but Amy went where she wanted, and he would often return to his room after a day's session to find her cross-legged on the bed, fashion magazine and pile of snacks in her lap. They couldn't shout at Amy either because she was ill, so found themselves instead on the receiving end of some stern glares.  
'I was never that much of a trouble maker before,' she'd remark innocently.

One day he found only the magazine, Roarton phone number written in green sharpie on the back. Her Nan's number, as it turned out, for her flat in Roarton. When he called the next day he was hit with the revelation Amy would be his classmate.

She didn't have to go to school. But she was adamant about having normal experiences whilst she still could, and being awkward and stressed in a stuffy classroom seemed to be one of them. Not that he had ever seen her stressed. Or upset at anything other than silly movies or sometimes the sweet old gentlemen visiting their wives on her ward. 

As his own treatment came to its latter stages he started getting sent on day trips. Group outings to the cinema,which Amy sometimes came along to. Once they had to endure a coach ride to the zoo, Amy at home that weekend with her parents. It had been alright though. Plenty to draw. Angry ostriches, tapping at the glass when they didn't like the look of someone. Amy had been delighted with his gift of a life size boa constrictor toy, and during her hospital stays would wrap it around her neck and pretend to choke herself when the nurses came by amid claims she would be eaten whole. His father had come by with a stack of animal books and the yearly wages of zoo staff. Never mind that an enclosure filled with carnivorous beasts wasn't usually the recommended choice for those with suicidal tendencies.

Finally he had his first weekend home. His bedroom was stuffy, looking the same as when he'd left it. The window didn't budge when he pulled on the handle. A further inspection showed scissors, a glass paperweight he'd kept on his desk and even his pencil sharpeners were absent. He'd never have done it here. Wouldn't jump out the window, it was nowhere near high enough. The sentimentality of the cave had only been one reason he had done it there. Jem was never supposed to have seen any of it.

The heavy clomp of her boots up the stairs made him turn around, and their gazes met through the open door into the hallway. She mirrored his blank expression of the last few months but her own door soon slammed, the reverberations still going round the house as a voiceless pulse of music filled it.  
He could imagine the hushed whispers occurring downstairs now, though it was hardly necessary to whisper.

It wasn't so different to before, really. Jem was reaching 'that age', as the older generation called it, where everything became a fight.  
'Good to be back, isn't it?' Sue said when she poked her head round the door just before nine.  
Nothing was good, but it would do.  
A few minutes later the music went down to a more manageable level and Kieren crawled into bed, sticking his head under the pillow and falling asleep.


	3. Summer Term

"Guess who I just saw," Amy grinned, sitting down and breaking her kitkat in half.  
"Thanks," he smiled, wolfing it down in one go. Chocolate had become very important to Monday mornings. He had put the point to his therapist only a few weeks ago that it was just as, if not more helpful than the other medication he took and it would be nice to be given a prescription for it. "I don't know, who?"  
In her best Irish accent she started reciting Dylan Thomas, squealing when recognition came to his face.  
"You know Thomas was Welsh?'  
"I know. So..?"  
"He seemed like a good teacher," he shrugged, reforming the dark hair, piercing eyes and quite terribly winning smile of the substitute teacher from months back. He hadn't given him that much thought, truly. Once or twice when he had been aching for release but anything more sordid would have seemed disrespectful, somehow.  
"I knew that would cheer you up," Amy sighed, clasping her hands together over her knees. "I bet he's been after a full time job here ever since he saw you last term."  
The school was only small, and even with the combined chatter of the other students in the halls he motioned that she keep her voice down. He'd probably end up being less cute than he remembered anyway.

When third lesson, his lesson, came around, he tried to convince Amy that they wait until after the crowds rather than get in before them. But then that might be worse. Everyone would be looking. And in that way they had they would just sense that there was something new to tease him over. Besides, Amy wasn't allowing it and marched him over to hold the door open as she practically span in.

It was good to see her like that. And impossible to remain annoyed.

There was at least the distraction of students from the last class starting to pack away and Mr Monroe only had a glance and a smile for them before departing his last words of wisdom to the class. The bell rang and whilst Amy had made herself comfortable in the office chair at the teacher's desk Kieren found himself in the position of official door holder whilst everyone scrambled out.

"Thank you, Kieren,' the teacher, still entirely as amiable said in lieu of the common courtesy the other students had forgotten. "Amy, are you leading the class today? I don't mind switching places."

"I don't think the class is ready for my teachings, Sir," she grinned, vacating and going to join Kieren at their desk near the back. She liked him too. It was hard not to. And he had remembered their names. But then he would have been warned of Amy's condition so it wasn't unlikely.

He wasn't the only appreciative one, and over the next few weeks you never saw Mr. Monroe walking down a corridor without a group of girls scampering along behind. Even from a few of the lads he would receive a high five and be deemed 'alright', the ultimate in cool for a teacher.

That he had a full blown crush was becoming impossible to deny. A harmless crush. That involved knowing the teacher's schedule, his usual parking space and when he was on lunch duty. He always had a hand packed lunch, but there was no wedding ring. A few lessons back he'd been asked if there was a Mrs. Monroe, to which he'd replied only his fair and indomitable mother.

If he had indeed been looking to him when he'd said that he would have seen the pink in his cheeks. Anything close to a relationship was certainly not a fantasy he was indulging in. Fumbles in various classrooms...they were harmless, but he tried not to daydream in class incase something mortifying happened. Calling a teacher 'Mum' happened to students every once in a while but he didn't want to be the first to call one by a secret pet name. Or even his first name. Simon. Far too familiar. He tore Amy's whole work page out once when she had doodled their names in a heart.

Then in the third week poetry club was set up.

Philip Wilson, head of the student council, was quick to complain that it was being held on the same night as their meetings, and in the same hall, no less. God forbid the world of politics be seen to take an interest in the arts.  
After a few choice words from Amy, and the knowledge that it was a club she would be attending, he soon let it drop. Even offered a share of the refreshments they had.

When they turned up on Thursday evening to find a small table of paper cups, cheap pop, and a suspicious looking quiche they realised that had not been so generous an offer.

Five other girls attended the new club, along with one reluctant boyfriend.  
Simon seemed pleased, though he had to know they weren't the type to be here for the poems. Not that he could talk. His enjoyment of poetry wouldn't have extended to an after school activity for any other teacher.

They sat informally around a table, Simon just out of his eyeline as long as he kept face forward. He suggested they start by talking about which poems they enjoyed, and the other girls all swooned about Shakespeare and how romantic it was.  
Amy scoffed about him being a player and a bit of a twat, writing twaddle for young women that weren't his wife.  
At the other end of the hall and perfectly in his view was Philip, and he could almost see how his ears strained to pick up on her every word. When the session came to a close he corralled her at the drinks station and expressed his distaste of the Bard.

The next week, the boyfriend's parents had gone out of town which meant a house party was in order. None of those girls showed.

The first five minutes passed in silence, putting Kieren in mind of that first time he'd been held back after class. Amy had texted that she wasn't feeling up to it and he kept fiddling with his phone, trying to conjure up her usual comments of support and that everything happened for a reason.   
"Looks like it's just us," Simon smiled, pulling a chair up to the table opposite him and setting a pile of books down.  
God help him, Caravaggio would have enjoyed painting those lips. He certainly had, though looking at them now there were a million things he had missed in his own efforts.  
And he was definitely staring. Had he zoned out on being asked a question? Simon didn't seem in a rush to speak.  
"I could just go," he mumbled, drawing his bag closer in front of himself. "If there was something you'd rather be doing?"  
"Something better than broadening my best student's minds? What else do teacher's live for?"  
"Snow days and giving out detention?"  
Simon's laugh put him at ease again. He'd proven he could at least try to be funny. This was good.  
But then the hall seemed to extend, the councillors at the other end looking very far away.  
"Did you say your best?"  
"One of," he answered, eyebrow raised as he pushed an Edward Lear text forward.

They made a very good effort of discussing some poetry. Poets. Where they were raised. Then the places they would like to visit, to see. Paris, obviously, was a big one for Kieren. Simon dismissed America and they plotted the best way to tour Europe instead.

The fifth week Amy was back, as well as two different students from other classes who were actually there for some extra lessons. Twenty minutes in and Amy murmured something about the anthology being forgotten. The big, heavy anthology right at the other end of the school that was essential for the club.  
"She sure is..."  
"Bossy," Kieren interjected once they were alone at their table.  
"I was leaning towards determined."  
"She's wonderful."  
The whole time they were acting like children playing footsie under the table, Kieren determined himself then not to blush or betray anything as well as his teacher was doing.  
When the others came back in though he lost, stiffening up a little, chair squeaking as he moved away. And with the stuffy student council only a few metres away. That had been stupid.

He was never the only one there again, a blessing in disguise if this, whatever this was, had moved to physical flirting. But then he just started being the last one to leave, always hurrying out mid sentence if the cleaner came in with the hoover.

"I went to the art department," Simon started the next week, watching the girls leaving out the window. "There's a lot of your work up."  
The way he said it, it was as if that was the sole reason he'd been down there.  
Reaching into his bag he pulled out his sketchbook and set it carefully on the table, making sure it was perfectly straight first.  
"You can look, if you want."  
Simon shut the blinds before he sat, handling the book almost reverently, one hand brushing over the soft leather cover before opening it up. Kieren hated this part.  
It was easy to tell when people didn't like it. The kinds of people who bought mass produced canvases of oversized flowers and groaned at the thought of going to a museum. They'd nod and use the word 'good' a lot. No artist wanted the only response to their work to be 'good'. 'So good' would be better. Better than 'really good' which was worse than just using the adjective on its own.

Simon wasn't like that. 

He hummed his approval, asked about the colours when there were any and why he drew people of all things. Thankfully not of who the people were. Rick's pages had been torn out but there were still plenty of his sister. Still not talking to him unless in forced conversation around the dinner table.

"You have a gift," he said once he turned to an empty page, closing it up.  
Kieren made a decision.  
"There's more, in the back."  
The blush already rising to his cheeks deepened as Simon glanced up to him before turning the book around.  
At first it was just anatomy sketches, perhaps not recognizable separated as they were. Countless hands, fingertips dusty with ink and pencil smudges remembered from his pointing to Amy's work so often where it didn't need correcting. But then there were the portraits which he hoped would be a little more familiar.  
"Wow," he whispered, fingertips hovering over every line, careful not to smudge it. "You did this from memory?"  
He'd had a little help from the passport type picture on the school's website. Hastily printed on the computer at home and hidden in a book.  
"incredible."  
He'd forgotten how to breath and just took the book back in silence, fingertips brushing lightly over his palm as he did so.  
"They're not quite right."  
"No. I don't think I look as good as that."  
There was no way he was commenting on that. Not tonight. But his wide smile probably gave away all his thoughts on the matter.

When on Friday night he plonked himself on the side of Amy's bed he exhaled and sank down with his head in his hands.  
Amy was jubilant.  
"Spill the beans, handsome. What did he say?"  
"He likes my art."  
"And...?" Amy chuckled.  
"And..I don't know? He's a teacher. Nothing can happen anyway."  
"You're sixteen, Kieren Walker. Almost, almost a man. And once school is over anything can happen."  
He hinted at a smile and nothing more, then Granny Dyer arrived with some jelly and the conversation shifted.

Their time together started to fall into a routine after that. Amy habitually needing help during English then accusing afterwards that they had been making eyes at each other instead of caring about her education. He dawdled after class and was especially helpful at collecting up workbooks. Sometimes they made conversation but it was just as fine to have a quiet minute in his company.

Nothing was ever mentioned. He was probably going crazy. He had Amy come along to the club occasionally, which was now more of a private meeting they moved to the English room once the main gathering had been cut short with various excuses. When the other girls left Amy always wandered off to debate things with the council.

Things were good. Amy was having more good days than bad and he had just enough time with Simon to be left wanting more but not enough to say or do anything overly embarrassing.

So it was all too soon, when the weather was at its most humid and he was starting to feel lazy about the idea of stopping anything, the term came to an end on a blue skied Thursday afternoon.

Halves of movies were watched in each class and after lunch people were just left to chat. Before the final bell had rung most people had left. Even the council had disbanded their meeting before 3.30.

He'd already looked outside to make sure his car was still there and was fairly calm as he entered the English room.

He was gorgeous. Chest almost on show, sleeves rolled up...  
"Kieren!" The stack of books in Simon's arms thudded to the desk as he quickly neatened his shirt up, fiddling with the cuff buttons. "I wasn't sure you'd show."  
"I can't stay. I just came to say goodbye."  
His depth of perception seemed to go wonky for a moment later he had the teacher between himself and the desk, in an almost hug.  
"Enjoy your Summer," Simon said.  
Kieren caught him at the corner of his mouth, the start of stubble and a grown up aftershave assaulting his senses. He was so used to the overpowering scent of Lynx clouding around the school he had never noticed it before.

That was his only thought of any clarity; the rest of his mind was alarm bells and whistles.

Murmuring another 'bye' he legged it out the door and outside where there were still a few stragglers languishing about. Happy and without a care in the world because they weren't stupid enough to keep doing reckless things.

By the time he got home he wasn't talking to anyone. Mr Monroe would leave now, the school, possibly even the county to avoid such a dumb kid, and he'd lose one of the best things to have happened to him.


	4. Summer Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I got busy, months passed. Sorry.

"Amy's on the phone, love," Sue called from the second step. It was as far as the outdated phone stretched on its cord. "I don't know how you have so much to talk about when you've seen each other all week."

He'd done well at avoiding her this first weekend, simply turning his mobile off and becoming a recluse in his bedroom. This was the third time she'd called the home phone, however, and he'd already used the excuse of having just quickly got in the shower.

Trudging down the stairs he waited for his Mum to leave the hall, though it was impossible to have a private conversation there anyway.

"Hello."  
"There you are, Kieren Walker. My squeaky clean Kieren."  
She still spoke it in a sing song voice, but the implication was there. Why have you been avoiding me.

It wasn't fair on her to be wasting so much time on him. He was all ready to cut her off when she invited him round again but his friend wasn't about to be fobbed off.

"I've already asked Sue if it's okay and she said you can stay the night too."

His parents would get suspicious if he said no, and having them breathing down his neck for the rest of the Summer was the last thing he needed so he packed a bag.

Amy gave him the tightest hug, and after they'd gotten cosy on the front step she waited.

"It's Mr. Monroe...Simon," he sighed finally. "I kissed him."  
"Well that's what people do when they like each other."  
"I think...he doesn't actually like me. He was just being a good teacher."  
"Kieren," his friend sighed, cupping his chin and looking him dead in the eyes until he was pouting at having to give in. "You're very likeable. And this is Amy time now, no dumb men allowed."

They ate cereal past midnight, watching scary movies, full of dumb men and women heading into dark forests and lonely houses.

Amy had made him feel better, but once he was home it was easy to fall into the old routine again. Time worked differently in the holidays, days dragging by with nothing to do but soon the whole week had passed. To get him out the house he was corralled into joining his parents grocery shopping.

Enough was enough when the discussion about which pasta sauce they should buy wasn't getting any closer to a resolution and he wandered off down the next aisle. Bread. There was a fly buzzing around in one of the fresh baked roll packets and he debated whether to point it out or not.

The bakery at the end was quiet except for one person.

His eyes widened and he had yet to get out of sight. Turning around he found himself blocked in by his parent's trolley. For fuck's sake.

"We went for 'thai infused', something exotic for the holidays."  
"Now we just need a few hula girls, hey Kieren?" his Father said, far too loudly. 

He could feel his cheeks warm and just hoped...but it was too late.

"Kieren?" Simon said.

He mumbled a hello under his breath, still hoping for escape, or less sociable parents.  
He scowled the whole time they shook hands and introduced themselves.

'Was my teacher," he interrupted when it was Simon's turn. "I heard he was leaving."  
"Did you now?" Simon asked quietly with piercing eyes. "I don't know where you heard that, but I have no intention of leaving. Not unless the students want to get rid of me."  
Amid murmurs of what a shame that would be Kieren imagined yellows and blues mixing in his cheeks to make a sickly shade of green.

"Oh," he whispered finally. "That's good then."  
"Is it'?"  
He gave a small nod, then announced he was going to go and wait by the car.

'The car' being Simon's. He shifted from foot to foot, trying to fix his hair in the mirror and wishing he'd worn a nicer shirt and wasn't so pasty. He needed to stay casual when he saw him exiting the shop and jogging over.

For the longest moment they just eyed each other warily, but then a smile crept onto Kieren's face as everything cautiously slotted into place again. It wasn't that unlikely that they'd have bumped into each other here, really. And his teacher had come straight out after him.  
"If this makes you uncomfortable..." Simon started.  
His head shook as severely as his frown.   
"Where's your shopping?"  
"Still in the basket. Doesn't matter, it was just pizza. I believe you're having a fancy pasta dish?"  
He shrugged, glancing into the passenger seat. It was piled with putrid green school folders.  
"I'll see you around then?" the teacher asked.  
"Yeah."

He was almost disappointed when the ride home didn't involve his parents asking any more about Simon. He'd been practising calm responses in his head.

Amy was more satisfactory and behaved like she was furious when she found out where he'd been.

She had scheduled all but to the second their Summer plans and they were behind enough already.  
"I thought I'd explained Amy time, lover boy."  
As punishment, 'Amy time' consisted of a trip to the beauty salon. He was allowed to just sit and chat although at least every ten minutes was offered some treatment. The least distressing was getting his eyebrows plucked, and he was soon sat back in a chair with a strange woman's hand stroking his forehead.  
But Amy was delighted with her traffic light green nails and in the end it wasn't too bad.

Gem looked at him oddly when he got home. Odd in that it was still such a rare occurrence but he knew what she was looking at and tried hopelessly to pull his short fringe down.  
"It wasn't my idea."  
She only shrugged, but he would gladly have gone and got every other treatment if it was to make them friends again.

The world seemed to have turned right side up, having only the occasional wobble which seemed the normal way for everyone. Kieren Walker. Normal human being. He was pretty pleased with that.

 

It was only a hunch but at the same time as last week's shopping trip he had walked down on his own, loitering the car park like a regular hooligan. It looked a bit suspicious to be walking round looking at cars.

"Am I late?"

He turned and saw Simon sticking his head out the window with a little wave, signalling where he was going to park up. It had been the traffic, of course. Not that there was much of it. Probably a crossing duck family held him up, nothing to worry about.

As soon as his teacher was opening the door he dug a hand into his pocket and dropped the small change he had on the floor.

"Kieren?"

It was risky but all he'd been thinking about on the walk over. When Simon leant down to help pick it up he took hold of him quickly, fingers pressing into the soft wool of his sweater as he kissed him again. Full on the lips this time, taking what he could get and all Simon offered whilst they had the chance. The teacher was clearly surprised, shoulders stiff under his touch for a moment before relaxing and drawing it out. His tongue left a wet slither across his bottom lip but it was still chaste. Cautious.

A little breathless when he broke away he dropped his gaze, retrieving a penny.  
"I'm probably the only one who can't wait for school to start," he said finally.  
Simon could only laugh, relieved he hadn't run off again.  
"Not the only one," he'd said, and they'd agreed then the supermarket was not a good place to meet, even if it meant waiting.

 

He hadn't seen Simon for eighteen days. 

Not that he had time to see him. As soon as his parents saw the sibling rift was repairing itself they were being taken on daytrips, a weekend break to Norwich, and family meals in nice restaurants. It was sweet, in a way, but both siblings were relieved when they could return to their meandering Summer.

And he had a formal invitation from Amy, printed neatly on floral note paper requesting his company at 6.30pm on the following night. Smartly dressed.

It was the first big surprise of the evening when Philip opened the door. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, cheeks especially rosy.  
"Er...hi."  
"Right, this way," the boy said, stepping aside. "You're early. Amy!'  
She came out wearing a red check apron, rollers in her hair like a 50s housewife.  
"Hello," she smiled, ushering Philip back into the kitchen. "Keep an eye on the potatoes. You go and sit down, gorgeous."

The living room had been transformed. Everything had been pushed back to squeeze in a dining table and chairs. Mrs. Dyer's vintage scarf collection draped over the furniture and there were candles burning in each corner.

He moved round to the head of the table to greet Amy's Gran, grey hair done up in a bun with a crystal comb that glittered in the lights.

"What's going on, Mrs. Dyer?"  
"Amy didn't tell you? She's been planning this since before term broke up."  
"And Phillip?"  
"Nice boy. Don't think he's ever cooked in his life."

He chuckled and was about to sit down when the doorbell rang, Amy's squeal making a harmony with it.

"Go answer the door, Kieren," she called.  
"You are a marvel," he whispered, thinking of how poorly he was spending his own time. He couldn't think who else might be expected. Surely not Gem. It would be one of Mrs. Dyer's friends.

Well, perhaps he was one of her friends.  
"These are for Mrs. Dyer," Simon said of the pink roses bunched under his arm.  
"You knew about this and you didn't tell me?"  
"I only found out last week."

He frowned, blocking the entrance for another minute before letting him pass. Taking the opportunity to check out what he was wearing. Navy shirt and jeans with a fitted jacket over the top. Well... if he'd known he'd have spent the time worrying.

He left him to greet Mrs. Dyer, heading into the smoke filled kitchen.  
"Pleased?" Amy smiled.  
He could only nod and blew her a kiss before being shooed away to keep their guest company.

He didn't know what Mrs. Dyer thought. She must have known. Simon was brilliant. Obviously. Attentive to them both and avoiding any specific questions about his teaching him because it didn't need to be any weirder.

Phillip thought it was weird, keeping his head down as he was sat opposite Simon but thankfully Amy was out with the food then, wheeling it out on a trolley. She was grinning from ear to ear, announcing the soup starter and frowning at the boy until he stood and pulled her chair out.

"I should have done that for you," Simon whispered.  
"Why not the other way round?"  
That silenced him and he grinned, glancing up to see they were being watched.

"Don't worry about Phillip," Amy said, patting his hand. "You know politicians are the best at keeping secrets."  
Phillip's face was priceless.  
"We protect the public."  
"And who decided the public wanted protecting from information?" Simon cut in.  
The boy seemed to sense a debate about Irish political history he couldn't win and asked if anyone would like more gravy.

Simon had the glint of a self satisfied smirk on his face and got jabbed in the thigh for it, though he was treated in the end for their hands remained close together beneath the pretty lace tablecloth.

It was the best night of Summer so far.

"A toast," he murmured after the main course was done, raising his glass a little. Perhaps before the main was the usual time for toasts. Come Dine With Me was all he had to learn dinner party etiquette from. "To our host and my best friend."

Amy's cheeks were rosy with delight and they shared a fond smile, then what was lauded as the secret Dyer cheesecake recipe,though he had never had it before. It was very good though.

It was pushing midnight. Mrs. Dyer long retired to bed and the other lovebirds cosied on the couch after Kieren and Simon had offered to wash up.

"There's a party this weekend. Down Morely Road."  
"Aren't you a little old for...house parties."  
Simon raised an eyebrow.  
"I mean yes. Yes, I would love to come to the party with you."  
"It's a little out the way. But I promise we won't see anyone we know."  
He cleared his throat, putting all the cups away.  
"Did you see who's headlining Glastonbury?"  
"Beyonce," Kieren grinned.  
"A favourite of yours?"  
She was in actual fact a guilty pleasure among the Walker siblings.  
"She's decent. Don't tell me you like Coldplay."

It was gone four. They had all but scrubbed the pattern off the last plate rewashing it again.  
They kissed once on the step before Simon left and he had no qualms about claiming Amy's bed as the other happy couple had fallen asleep downstairs. Not that he and Simon were a couple. They were just...fond. For the longest time he stared at the ceiling, reliving the night and then dreaming up scenarios for the party.

 

There were a lot of cars parked up, a few people loitering the street and blaring music escaping the brightest lit house.   
He was a little relieved to find Simon waiting in the neat front garden so he didn't have to venture in alone.  
"I know it's not ideal," he said slipping an arm around his waist and leaning close to be heard. "But we'll find a quiet corner to talk."  
He nodded and smiled, letting himself be led. It wasn't crowded with people like he'd expected. The hall was empty and he saw about four adults...people of Simon's age in the kitchen. A modern living room which they bypassed, Simon saying they wouldn't be disturbed upstairs.  
Taking a few pillows from a bed they made a comfortable corner for themselves and sat tight at each other's sides.  
"Do you think me terribly uncool?"  
"This is great," Kieren smiled, leaning his head back against a floral feature wall. Soon absently picking at a spot that had started to peel. "I would have been going out of my mind if Amy hadn't arranged that meal. "  
"I know. She's getting an A star on all her papers now."  
"Is that all you've been doing, grading papers?"  
"I have friends too, you know?"  
"Any of them here?"  
"You're here," he grinned. 

"Is this what you normally do at parties?" he asked later, his voice starting to go hoarse from talking so much.

They stood together, and as the beat of the music reverberated the walls didn't feel the need to go downstairs. This was never going to be conventional.  
And they didn't really dance. Just swayed and kissed. When he started feeling a little overheated he pulled away and Simon went to get them drinks.

He took the time alone to go find the loo.

The bathroom was being used as a place to meet, it seemed. The toilet inoperable with the lid down and utensils covering it.

"Don't mind us," one said, metal clattering to the floor as a woman lifted the seat up.  
"Get your cock out."  
"Don't be shy."

His cheeks had gone red and he backed out and downstairs to find some familiarity. This kind of thing happened at parties. When he got to the kitchen though it became clear it was actually the theme of this event.

Is this what Simon did in the holidays? Maybe even year round.

He obviously used. It was obvious now. The sweaters, shirts. Always buttoned at the wrist. When you had your own forearms to hide you noticed how free everyone else was with theirs, staining them with ink writing notes or drawing stupid pictures. Who's were as hairy as a werewolf. But not Simon. Even on non uniform days when you saw teachers in football shirts and even vests, Simon remained formal. He was an idiot for not noticing something was wrong before.

"I'm going home," he murmured to no one.

He ignored the constant calls that followed when he was spotted, walking fast once outside towards the bus stop.  
"Kieren, let me drive you home."  
"I don't think that's a good idea," he muttered without looking back.  
"There might not even be another bus this late."  
"I'll walk home. What does it matter?"  
"It's dangerous, Kieren."  
"More so than taking a suicidal kid to a fucking drug den?"  
"It's not like that," Simon started quietly. "Look, I'm not leaving you alone here."  
Kieren shrugged, gazing resolutely down the street.

He wasn't overreacting. It wasn't a party. No one else had been dancing. What business did a teacher have even knowing about this kind of place.

Thankfully a bus did arrive and he jumped straight on and went home, using Amy's illness as an excuse to his parents for his sudden arrival. It wasn't cool, but it gave him the freedom of space.

 

He didn't see Simon for the rest of the holiday. Amy asked what had happened but all he said was that they didn't really hit it off. It didn't matter, he had Amy time afterall.

It was the last proper Summer they'd spend together. He split the rest of his time between home, Granny Dyer's and the hospital. He was a hit with the old women there, and quite a few of the nurses, sketching all of them to pass the time whilst his friend slept, or just watched quietly.

They didn't have much to talk about, Sue would be pleased to know. Nothing they needed to talk about urgently. Quiet time was Amy's new thing. Just because she was running out of it didn't mean she had to be urgently filling every second.  
"There's something honourable about enjoying your laziness," she'd declared.

Phillip seemed to struggle with stillness, always fidgeting with a pencil, his hands, until Amy would swat at them and mutter about zen and yoga. She used the threat of yoga class to settle him down, the idea of him doing downward dog always leaving them in fits of laughter. Phillip put up with it all like a champ.

The holiday finished that way, cool and collected, so that the final weekend was a fuss about uniforms and homework. And Simon. Perhaps be really would have left now. He had convinced himself of it by Monday morning. It was the only thought getting him out of bed that new day of term.


	5. Autumn Term

Kieren very seriously considered cutting class, but Amy said it was better to just get it over with.

He got in at the last few seconds and was gone with Amy before the bell.

It was fine. He'd been fine. Simon had walked past him seven times. At one point they'd locked eyes as he'd been trying to focus on the board and not him. Kieren glared and had stared at his books for the rest of the lesson, having to copy his friend's notes later.

"I haven't heard anything about poetry club," Amy said at break the next day.

"It's probably cancelled."

"Shame. I wanted to introduce the beau to Lord Byron."

He forced a smile and Amy's gaze penetrated him a little too deeply but for once she didn't force the issue.

 

It all happened on a day Amy wasn't there.

"Can I at least explain."

He'd been corralled into moving tables back, this part of the school quiet a minute after the bell with everyone descended into the main halls and outside for break. Now he had realised the only reason they'd moved to work in groups in the first place was for this plot to keep him here.

"Want to tell me not to tell anyone?"

"I trust you."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I should have told you about the house," Simon continued, rolling his sleeves up. "What kind of place it was."

He clearly hadn't been paying attention in biology for he couldn't remember what that part of the arm was called. Was it just the inner elbow?

He stared until Simon suddenly pulled the sleeve down again, tucking in the last chair and leaning against his desk.

Everyone else managed to progress through the system just as they were supposed to.

"Say something?" the teacher asked.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Monroe."

That night in bed he allowed him to flood his thoughts once more. At first it was in shady alleys with masked men handing over small bags of powder, and the thought of him delirious with it in a lonely corner. That was how he imagined drug addicts. Not those people in the well to do house treating it like caviar. That only seemed to make it worse.

Simon had told him though. Showed him. And such dark, vivid marks didn't come from casual use. Then he'd gone and reacted by gawping like a fish. Hardly a way to repay how kind Simon had been that first day in P.E.

The next day after class he dropped a very neatly written, third attempt of a note onto the teacher's desk, containing his mobile number and nothing else.

It hadn't been the house, really, or even the nature of the individuals. It was the creeping around, like it was wrong. It was wrong, in a way. He got that. You didn't become a teacher to find a boyfriend. Simon had been teaching for years before all this...he thought. They'd not really spoken about it. For the present they'd been happy. Really happy.

He didn't dare check his phone in his next classes lest it be confiscated and anything incriminating found, but it was hard for the walk home not to keep looking for messages. And at home. During dinner.

"There was a story on the radio this afternoon. Girl ran up the phone bill into the thousands calling a Turkish Monk. He said he was a Monk, her spiritual guide."

"It's pay as you go, Dad."

"You remember Linda from down the road?" he carried on "Telling everyone she had an inheritance coming in. She'd never even been to Nigeria."

Jem was grinning behind a forkful of peas as he slid the device, on vibrate, into his pocket until he could be excused for his room.

 

Maybe he'd written it down wrong. Simon had mistook a '7' for a '1'. If he'd been his math teacher he would have known the difference. Or it had been smudged, somehow. Or...

The phone vibrated in his hand. Speak of the devil, as his Dad would say.

_'Hi. It's Simon. If you want to talk about anything. We can.'_

Kieren frowned. Why had it taken him seven hours to send that.

Maybe it was the signal. It was always crap in little outside villages. Edging around the bed he found the spot the bars were at their highest and curled up there, precarious at the very left edge of the mattress.

_'Why did you do it?'_

The responses came in half minutes then.

_'Why does anyone do anything? I was angry. Miserable, too.'_

_'What at?'_

_'The world. Myself.'_

He hadn't expected anything in depth on a text message. And he got it. Had said the same single word responses to the doctors, family, anyone who had asked. Passing them off with it to get rid of them though they truly had encapsulated everything that had been wrong. There were no other two words that were more all consuming.

It was since Simon, really, he'd been looking on it from a distant self.

_'Is this your first time with a student?'_

The response took longer this time.

_'What do you take me for? I dated a teacher once and that was hassle enough.'_

_'Alright. I forgive you.'_ He had another text sent seconds later. _'What are you doing Thursday evening?'_

 

Poetry was the least discussed subject at poetry club. Exams, and a desire to do well in them, were becoming a very real thing. Simon was helping him, with every subject, as well as Amy and Phillip when they turned up occasionally.

"I never want to see a flashcard again," Phillip groaned, forehead against the desk. "I can't believe you wanted to come back to school."

The last comment was directed at Amy, who was far sterner than any teacher they had and drilling them at every opportunity. She'd dropped half her classes but was persevering each day, watching over their learning. She wasn't going to be taking the exams and none of them really liked to think about it, welcoming all her knowledge in the end with less grumblings. She wanted top marks for them both.

The routine was back and everything could be normal again. More so in these later months. October had eeked out the last of its warmth and they were back to the British standard of dark and wet days.

He'd been lucky that afternoon to have made it home whilst the rain was still just spotting. He'd not even got his coat off when he caught sight of his parents both waiting, sitting very straight on the sofa with the television off, curtains closed and the light very yellow. Sue was holding a letter and Steve jumped up the moment he walked in the door. The school crest stamped on the header stood out starkly even through the back of the paper.

Christ. Someone had seen them, heard them. Reported it and now Simon would be fired...arrested for trying it on with a pupil.

"Great one, son!" his dad grinned, drawing him in for a handshake and a pat on the back.

"Mum?"

"The trip to Paris. The exhibition. My Kieren in a fancy exhibition."

He smiled shakily, brow furrowed. "What are you two on about?"

Sue handed the letter over and he skimmed it quickly. The words 'school trip', 'gallery' and 'promising talent' caught his eye, and then he saw a collection of signatures at the bottom, one particular cursive followed by 'Mr. S. Monroe ' in print.

His first thought was that surely people would think it odd an English teacher was dealing with not only Art but French as well. His second was to wonder if Simon even spoke French.


	6. School Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. It's been a long time. 

Simon didn't speak French. Not properly. Passages of books, the works of Balzac and Voltaire spilled from his lips as if he were a natural, but more useful phrases like where the bathroom was and 'where the hell is platform six' often alluded him.

And they were in definite flirting territory now, no matter what the language. Kieren had never flirted. Not seriously...overtly. He wasn't the showy and flirty type. Not within the confines of a small village community. But this was Paris and the very air blew differently.

They had rooms in a university campus. He was sharing with a boy from Wales who made digital art. Across the hall were sisters who made clay and wire sculptures. Kieren had found himself the most traditional of artists there. Even the other painters were mostly doing hyper realism, the skill of which he appreciated but otherwise wasn't terribly keen on. It was nice, in the uni. Nothing like school. He got to sit in on an art lecture. Tour the facilities. Studios.

He tried not to be so over excited in front of Simon. So young. Being a student was a distant past to Simon by now. It didn't matter otherwise, the whole age thing. It was just being reminded of it, that it was causing problems now. In five years...two even, if they made it that far. It would be fine then.

The whole situation still made him feel ridiculous, when he was laying in his foreign bed at night too overwhelmed to fall straight to sleep. More so for being here. Living away from his parents, almost living with his...person he was seeing.  
But then Simon would whisper or find a reason to touch him. Just on the back of the hand and he'd have to subdue a smile. Kieren absolutely wasn't into danger either so the only other reason he would put himself through this was...

The reason for the trip itself should have interested him more. It was difficult to appreciate in full when he was able to find a table ouside a crowded cafe and sit there an uninterrupted hour or two with Simon. Nothing felt more natural and he only half cared what a mess of crumbs fell down his shirt whilst they enjoyed the flakiest and most delicious of pastries.

"Would you ever want to live here?" Simon asked. His lips were moist with the butter and after some intense staring he passed over a napkin.

"Maybe not permanently."

"Have we unlocked a traveller?"

Kieren made a face. He didn't like it, that 'we'. The plural of the school body. The school had nothing to do with this, with his.. fondness for Simon. It would have started anywhere. Destined to be, Amy would say. Had said.

"Is that what you are?" he returned instead of an answer.

"Substitutes get sent everywhere."

"And you got yourself stuck in Roarton."

"I requested a transfer."

Their feet were touching under the table. It was only a small round one. It could have been avoided, of course. But he liked when they were touching. It made him more sure.

"The position was open anyway, you know? And it's reliable hours. Less travelling."

His tone suggested none of those things had any relavance at all. He felt hot and stared down into his almost empty cup. He couldn't blame the steam.

Not having to travel across the channel to spend this time together would be nice. And the time was flying by here. Exploring shops, galleries, quaint parks where he learnt Simon was not a dog person.

What was supposed to be the encapsulating moment of a romantic trip to Paris, a walk to the top of the Eiffel Tower, ended as soon as they saw the queue. The lines of people tripled in the sweltering heat.

Amongst all this of course were the two pieces of his own art, hung rather nicely, actually. Someone had gone to the expense of mounting and framing them. And how many people had their work displayed in Paris.

The official opening was busy. There were colleges and schools of art recommending themselves, giving out pamphlets. Simon ended up using them as a fan. Was almost coquettish using them to hide the private smiles and seductive glances he was sending his way.

"I think you're incredible," Simon told him.

Kieren had laughed. Fiddled with his top button. Before he'd left absolutely everyone had gotten involved in what he should wear. Even Jem had tagged along, though that was mostly to sweet talk her way into a new jacket from the alternative fashion shop opposite.

In the end simple had been best. Black suit, white shirt. Simon pulling him down a corridor before it had gotten busy to fix his tie for him.

Amy was over the moon.

They had been emailing often, he was sending a complete...mostly complete log of his days and when there was an hour free a Skype conversation at a busy internet cafe. He had to keep teling her to keep her voice down.

"No, I've not kissed anyone atop the Eiffel Tower. It's better viewed from below anyway. The Louvre was nice."

"What secrets Mona Lisa must have."

The signal was slow and the video lagged by a few seconds, her frozen expressions that of an exaggerated cartoon character.

A small mention of Phillip was enough to cause a distraction for the rest of the session. His friend was not the typical idea of a politician's wife, or girlfriend. Their ideals swerved so far away from one another sometimes. 

The next freeze frame was of Amy's 'stop thinking about the future' face. Her 'I'll be fine, really' show of a smile.

"Go enjoy Paris. Go, go," she shooed him. "Remember my present."

He did enjoy it. Learnt a lot for a small amount of classes, had continued compliments passed on from the gallery visitors and found Amy a pink beret no one else in Roarton could have pulled off.

It reached the penultimate night and he was running to his dorm with Simon's coat engulfing him.

"Hoodies aren't rainy day attire. They soak the rain right up."

The umbrella Simon also had would have been less conspicuous. But less cosy. And he'd ordered him into it in that teacher voice that was a mix of authorative and frustrated. The teacher thing had to have at least one perk.

Kieren had hung it now over the room's small desk chair to dry. He wasn't going to sleep with it in the bed. But one of the pockets was hung open invitingly and after little resistance he scooted over to dig his hand in.

First there was powder. A hasty retreat and the dusting on his fingertips scattered too onto the overhanging duvet. His next forage unearthed a torn sugar packet from the communal kitchens.

There were the passes for the gallery, a toss up between who's ID picture looked most like a mug shot. They had been taken as soon as they'd arrived in the city. Simon's hair was still scrunched up from the nap he'd had leant against the taxi cab's window. Kieren's thumb moved over it before moving onto the next bit of paper.

A few places were written, unfathonable directions and on the reverse a few more carefully written French sentences. He recognised the common words like 'cher' and 'aime'. 'Futur' seemed self explanatory but he was scrunching the paper up by then, putting everything back and zipping the pocket hastily. Making a journey to the bathroom to wash his hands.

The coat was returned the next morning without comment. The sky had cleared to give them a humid last day. They went to the pictures and held hands in the dark. Kieren still understood less than half of what the film characters were saying. Simon not much more improved. The actors were good enough the words might not have mattered.

They had lunch in the cafe and dinner as a group to celebrate a successful trip. There were tears from one of the other artist's who had fallen head over heels with a local. No one really wanted to leave after their taste of the artist high life and everyone was sullen and quiet as they crossed the channel again.

 

He didn't know how Simon arranged these things but it was he giving him a lift home. The sister's parents had come personally for them and the other teacher's dealing with the rest.

The closer they got to Roarton the more he started shifting in his seat. By the time it started coming up on the street signs he was regretting not saying he'd love to move to Paris. They could have moved right then.

"There's not long left," Simon said. "Of school."

Simon was a mind reader, or they were of one mind. They pulled into a petrol station. Had a last, mediocre kiss there. It would be fine, once they were back in the routine of pretending. Hiding. And it was worth it.

The kiss had not been their best but as they eased back and gazed at one another his feelings bloomed. A turnpile in the murky early morning light could have been the Eiffel tower still. The prepacked sandwiches waiting in the glove box an artisan baker's fare. He could have told Simon he loved him. Parted his lips to do so but twisted back properly in his seat again.

"I wonder how Amy is," he voiced.

Amy would put him right. Tell him he was delusional to think this was love. Or an idiot for not saying it and going with the flow.

Roarton was still his home for a while yet. Whilst Amy was there. And what was Simon going to do? Transfer to his college next? Had that been what Simon had been getting at during the cafe talks? Their plans? And now the conversation would have to wait until they had privacy again. It was too late now.

They couldn't linger in the car as they pulled into the street. The house lights were on, and though those surrounding were dark at least one would have someone peering out a window.

"We had a great time."

"Yeah. The first of many," Kieren said quietly, shivering with how quickly the car's heat died away.

The doors were open. Sue's hushed voice was warning everyone to be quiet and not rouse the neighbours. 

"Bienvenue, mon frére."

Jem was still in her pyjamas but got the first hug in, stepping aside for the more fussy affections of their parents. 

He was faintly aware of Simon shaking hands with his Dad. Making hushed small talk about the trip, about him.

"Our Jem's a star too, you'll be taking her on a posh school trip in a few years."

Kieren frowned a little at the teacher, moving things along and collecting his bags from the boot.

"Don't forget this," Simon said, ticking something into one of the compartments on his rucksack. "Don't lose it. Just some of the homework."

A nod and he was gone. Kieren was back inside.

"Do you want anything? Tea?" his Mum asked. "I could cook a nice fry up if you want. How was the food?"

He smiled and said a glass of water would be fine. He'd try and get some more sleep.

"You shouldn't have got up so early for me."

"See?" Jem said. "I told you he wouldn't mind."

She was ignored.

"You were in the paper, love. We bought out the whole shop."

News was sparce in the village, they'd put a whole half page to it.

"Meet anyone nice?" Steve grinned. "French girls? Or bachelors."

Jem pulled a face from halfway up the stairs and he made his own escape as quickly as he could behind.

The art teacher had never mentioned anything about homework. And if it was English...If Simon expected him to do anything other than sleep and eat today.

It was a pearlescent blue envelope. His full name written out on it in Simon's writing, 'French Homework' underneath.

Inside was Van Gogh's Starry Night on a card.

'Kieren,

I'm not one for soppy cards but you deserve more than texts all the time whilst we're here.

Une brille et joli futur nous attend.

Si  
x'

He traced over his initials. Imagined Simon in one of the gift shops, deciding which card to choose. Practicing his words on scraps before commiting them here. A final wave of wakefulness filled him.

His phone reminded him of the ungodly hour but he dashed off a quick text before switching off and settling down.

'Bonne nuit, mon plus brillante etoile.'


	7. Exams

"Come here, handsome."

Even though her transfusions had increased to a minimum of three a week she had insisted on seeing them off to school for their final exam. English.

The unspoken goal was that she wanted to see them graduate high school with glittering grades.

He leant over her gently, only to be chastised and pressed into a proper hug. She would have squeezed his very bones if she'd had the strength so he complied quietly, pecking her on the cheek before he pulled away.

"Remember,' she said sternly. 'Don't panic. Breathe. If you're worried over a question just sit back and picture everyone else in their underwear. Unless Simon's there, strictly no thoughts about his underwear, thank you."

"I'll ring you straight after," he smiled, getting out the car so Philip had room to step in and get his own pep talk.

"Good luck, boys," she called as the driver wound the window up, and Philip waved her off until the car was out of sight.

"How are you feeling?" Kieren asked, shoulders hunching.

"Terrible," Philip murmured. Looked it. They walked in silence into the examination hall. Everyone looked different. Paler. Distant. It had been different each time. Maths had been first, louder with fussing over calculators and rumours about invigilators and what doodle or plea in the answer box might win over the person marking your paper into giving you the mark regardless of knowing the answer. It was a deathly hush now.

"You're going to do great," a voice whispered, plucked him from the crowd, showed him personally to his seat.

Simon walked past a further six times that he noticed. Noticed the well shined black shoes at least, gaze never raising with such proximity. Twice he had been too engrossed in getting a paragraph put to notice, then felt a prickle at the back of his neck and familiar footsteps. Could imagine the smile. He wasn't the brainiest student on the topic by any means but it had to make a teacher proud seeing such a furvor of writing. He had to stop thinking of Simon. Fanned himself with the book and buckled down again.

 

When time was called he sank back relieved, and once all the papers were collected dashed outside to wait by Simon's car, phone already out.

"Hello, clever clogs," Amy's voice chirped. "I told you it wouldn't be so bad. Now get off the line so the beau can reach me."

Sitting on the floor in the shade between scorching cars he watched the still steady crowd streaming out. For most it was the last, and the crowd now was changed again, elated with what was for now crossing the final hurdle. The wait for the results seemed a long one, and it was insignficant and unchangeable now. He still felt it too, though school had stopped being so all ecompassing after his incident. Since he'd started recovery.  
Life would carry on no matter the results. He knew there was a long future ahead if he wanted it. And that it would be filled with a career and experiences. Simon.

He shut his eyes with a lazy smile as his teacher, almost former teacher, walked over and helped him up. Pressed low on his back guiding him into the passenger seat, on the pretext of taking his bags for the back.

Right then, he thought, it was a good time to be in love.

 

The traffic was manic, and after waiting an uncomfortable amount of time in the McDonald's drive through they parked up out of the way in a nearby retail park. At this hour of the afternoon it was still mostly the aged and the idle to do going for a jaunt around The Range.

The radio was on quietly, windows open wide and once he had taken his shoes off he was allowed to sit cross legged. Simon fed him most of the chicken nuggets from his Happy Meal, in between his long talks about the questions, and what he might have answered wrong. There were no wrong answers when interpreting a text, Simon reminded him.

"I'm so glad it's over."

"Me too," Simon answered. Kissed him, tongue teasing along his lips before he pulled away and started fussing over the cheap plastic toy he'd acquired. There was a slew of them in the glovebox, a kid would have a field day. Perhaps Simon wanted children. A family. It had never come up. So much had come up, philosophies and ideals in the grand scheme, gentle topics, but for their little lives...

During the drive home he considered their relationship again. How they'd see each other without school. If their brilliant futures were destined to be spent together at all. He'd see him once more at least, when the dark day came to say goodbye to Amy. These weren't new thoughts but before now they'd been a future worry. Everyone was expecting him to go off and be the next Rembrandt but he did not want to go off alone.

He was glad of the house, and not being able to invite him in. His manner was stilted as he opened the car door, escaping inside before Simon had chance to say too much of anything.

 

Hours later, shut in his room, his sister knocked but didn't wait. Found him puffy eyed on the floor beside his bed. He didn't miss the flickering gaze to his arms and held them tighter round himself. The heat of the day had worn off. Sometimes crying was the cure.

"Worried about exams, you know?"

"You're free, Kier," she told him. "You can do anything you want. Paint. Travel. Stay right here and do my homework."

He smiled tiredly as she knelt down and leant her head on his shoulder.

"I made friends...got to know someone at the hospital," she said. "When we visited you every weekend and I would always wander off. They weren't dying or anything... Sorry."

"It's okay. What's her name?"

She was blushing. Elbowed him in the ribs.

They agreed to meet next weekend. Jem wanted to prove she wasn't a loner, and show off her fairly cool brother before even broaching the idea of introducing their parents and scaring the young woman straight off.

And with plans for next weekend the days before it would have to be filled somehow too. He text Simon later that night. Past midnight, so it might wait until morning. Simon hadn't messaged at all yet and he appreciated the space.

_'Do you have any children?'_

It was barely a few seconds before - _'No. Should I phone you?'_

_'No. Do you want children?'_

His phone rang and he hit the red icon. Shut his eyes and breathed whilst Simon was typing again.

 

 

 

A few days later they were meeting to discuss what a terrible choice he would be to write a letter of recommendation for his college applications.


End file.
